


Princess of Daggers

by logicpartyTOS



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Flirting, Praise Kink, Romance, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25103590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logicpartyTOS/pseuds/logicpartyTOS
Summary: Tired of the paltry coins from easy marks of betrayed spouses and merchants with a grudge almost as broke as she is, Sasha Hawke takes on the job as the Prince of Starkhaven's personal assassin, ruthlessly dispatching the enemies of the the rightful heir of Starkhaven's throne.





	1. Chapter 1

Sasha tore the notice from Kirkwall’s board and read it. She tried to rein in her excitement, but usually her work was disgruntled spouses and barkeeps and merchants who’d been swindled. Or an Orlesian needed to die for being Orlesian, which to her delight, was often.

She whirled on Bethany and waved the parchment in her face. “Sister, we’re gonna be rich with ridiculous hairdos and dresses we can’t get out of by tomorrow. Thursday at the latest.”

Bethany, who was completely lacking in a proper sense of humour, rolled her eyes. Sasha felt annoyed but kept it to herself because Bethany wasn’t lacking in a proper sense of spells, and it was just a matter of time before she froze Sasha to death, or worse...set her on fire. It could happen.

“I, for one, am willing to do my part.” Sasha placed a hand on her chest. “This poor prince has been wronged by brigands.”

Bethany clucked her tongue. “A prince here in Kirkwall of all places. Sure there is, sis.”

“Look,” Sasha said, thrusting the letter into her sister’s hand. “It has his signature and everything. It’s real.” She stood close as Bethany read. She knew the moment Bethany got to the pretty loopy signature of Prince Sebastian Vael and his royal monogram below it. Sasha elbowed her. “See? Real thing.” She snatched it from her fingers. “Now that’s settled, let’s go and kill them.”

“Sister...” Bethany started, then stopped. No doubt to inhale plenty of hot air for another round of the Great Moralising since they’d landed in this Maker forsaken city.

𝐴𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑚𝑒, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑦. Sasha decided to poke at her sister’s own greed. Getting out of Gamlen’s house and into a mansion in Hightown was all she talked about. Bethany liked to pretend she was above it, but really she wanted to sleep on silk pillows and order servants to pour her that awful cinnamon tea that tasted like dirt.

“Of course, if you’d prefer us to stay another year in Lowtown…” Sasha set off towards the first knot of bandits indicated on the map. She smiled satisfactorily when Bethany fell in step beside her.  
After dispatching the first two Flint Company idiots, they headed for the Wounded Coast. It would be difficult for Sasha to calculate just how much she hated the sea. After being on a ship for months that stunk of body odour and rotting fruit and death, she’d be happier never seeing it again.

The last of the mercenary company lay dead on the sand. Their blood turned it the colour of rust. Sasha fished around in their nasty pockets. She felt something soft and squishy in one of them and she didn’t dare free it, or even want to know what it was. She moved on to the next.

“Sister,” Bethany said, thumping her staff into the dirt. “Robbing the dead is too...evil. Let’s just go get our reward, please.”

Sasha tugged a chain. It felt delicate, so she wriggled her fingers around to gently slide it out. She surreptitiously glanced at Bethany and dropped the necklace into her own pocket.

“Well, then” —she threw her arm around Bethany’s shoulders— “I say we enjoy a cold ale.”

Bethany narrowed her eyes. “You don’t want to get our coin first?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said cheerily. “I’m not going to cheat you.”

Thankfully, the trip to the Hanged Man was uneventful. If one could call prostitutes plying their trade and a mugging taking place behind some crates uneventful. In Lowtown, Sasha imagined one could.

She stumbled home and begged off talking to her mother and went straight to the dirty room she shared with Bethany, who was still at the tavern. She lit a candle and took it to the small desk and set it down. Carefully as she could, she pulled the necklace from her pocket and noticed the chain was broken. She held it up to the candlelight. The gold glinted. She fetched a leather strap and tied up her hair. Then she sat down and took the quill from the inkwell. She used the clean end to pry the locket open.

There was a portrait of a pretty woman with a small oval face, full lips and shy eyes with lines at the corners. On the back of the locket, in cursive script read: Meghan Vael. Sasha prised up the portrait where underneath sparkled a ruby that took up the entire back. Did those bastards tear the chain from her neck as she begged for her life? Sasha thought of how terrifying it must have been for the poor woman, and how she might have, in the hope of saving her life, offered up this precious possession. Sasha shook her head to clear her thoughts and wiped her eyes. It doesn’t matter now, does it? The lady is dead and the ruby was now hers. She studied Meghan’s lovely face for a few minutes longer before returning it to her coat pocket. She went to bed dreaming of all the fresh meat and ripe, juicy tomatoes and big green apples she’d buy.

Sasha got up early the next morning and decided to treat herself to one of those sweet slices of ham wrapped in thin bread from a Hightown stall. A rare thing, but sometimes she deserved to eat something that wasn’t covered in spices to try and mask the odour of meat that was half rotted.

She headed for the Chantry, threading her way through the parishioners loitering in the courtyard. No doubt they were there to wail and beg forgiveness for sins they’d repeat soon as the sun went down. She paused and used the hem of her cloak to clean off her fingers as best she could, then pulled its hood over her head.

Sasha opened the Chantry door and crept inside, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the candlelight. She inhaled the rose incense and allowed herself to enjoy smelling something other than the stench of dead fish and cheap perfume. Of course the place was completely empty because they were all out there waiting until it was absolutely necessary to be in here for the sermon.

She snorted.

Next to the lectern stood a tall man with brown hair. Sasha assumed he was the brother on duty. She slipped the note from her pocket and made sure she was in the right meeting place. It clearly stated that the prince was here and this is where she was to pick up her payment. She chewed her bottom lip and looked around, but didn’t see anyone that seemed very prince-like.

The brother at the lectern noticed her and smiled as he came forward. “The service doesn’t start for another hour, but you’re welcome to pray, or talk about what troubles you, if you like.”

“Maybe another time, brother.” She tried to ignore how gorgeous he was and blue eyes set against bronze skin. Getting struck down by the Maker before she could get paid would be sort of bad. “I’m here for Prince Sebastian Vael.”

The brother’s lips parted slightly.

Sasha continued, “I kil...did some work for him.” She tugged the hood of her cloak so that it covered most of her face.

“I am Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven,” he said.

“Oh!” She thought she did an okay job of hiding her shock, but the twitch at the corner of his lips indicated otherwise. She felt annoyed that the cloak wasn’t actually hiding her face. At least she could pretend to be a professional. She handed him the note from the Chanter’s board. “Anyway, the job is done, and I’m here for services rendered.” He didn’t move to pull a wad of gold from his pocket, so Sasha leaned in and pointed. “Right there. See? Twenty gold.”

He gestured to a secluded corner.

She followed him and instinctively laid her fingertips on the hilt of her knife.

He said quietly, “I truly did not believe the Grand Cleric would let the post stay, or that anyone would take the job, but, thank you...?”

“Hawke,” she supplied.

“I owe you more than I can say, Hawke. The murder of my family could not go unpunished, and I could not stay fully committed to the Chantry after what happened to them.”

“I’m sorry.” She coughed into her fist and shuffled her feet. He looked like he was about to cry and Sasha feared he might get so worked up that he’d forget to pay her. She touched his wrist and said with all the sincerity she could fake, “I can only imagine how difficult this must be.”

He smiled sadly. “You’re a good person, Hawke. I was hoping there was something left I — never mind. It is done, at least.”

She felt jubilant as the clink of gold coins fell into her palm. Of course she’d count it as soon as she arrived home. Maybe bite a few. Was it rude to dance in the Maker’s house?

Sasha danced down the Chantry steps singing a bawdy tune. She could still see his sad eyes as he spoke about his family. She remembered poor Meghan’s face. 𝑁𝑜, 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑡. 𝐷𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑔𝑜 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒. 𝐼𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑚𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒. 𝐷𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡.

She went back inside.

Before she could change her mind, she held out the locket to him. “Here. Meghan would probably want you to have this.”

“You opened it.”  
“I did, yes.”  
“You stole it.”  
“I rescued it.”  
“To sell?”

Sasha felt something she hadn’t felt in years: shame.

She pushed back the hood of her cloak. “I was going to. Now I’m not.”

She watched him fiddle with it and the next thing she did, and Maker only knows why she did it, but she sat on a bench and started explaining herself. “It wasn’t to buy whisky or anything like that, if that’s what you were thinking.” 𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑜 𝐼 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑠? “Lowtown isn’t exactly great, you know. Let’s just say I have hopes of eating cheese not covered in rat...uh, droppings.”

Sebastian cleared his throat.

Sasha thought he was about to give her some rope and tell her how all is forgiven and Andraste loves her and blah blah blah. But he wasn’t saying anything at all. He just stood there rubbing that damn locket. Is he praying? What must’ve happened is this naïve sod thought she was some kind of saviour or something of the downtrodden and she had obviously just destroyed this view.

“Listen,” she said, softening the blow. “It’s not about being a good person or not, it’s —”

“I don’t have access to Starkhaven’s gold at the moment.”

“Oh…well, that’s a pity, I guess.”

He thumbed out the picture. Then he dangled the locket in front of her. “Do you know who Lord Harimann is?”

“This Lord in your way, is he?” She laughed nervously.

“Keep it. And when I have my lands again, you will be paid royally.”

Sasha searched his eyes and saw hunger in them, and something else it took her a few moments to work out. Rage. 𝐻𝑒’𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒! She considered turning it down. Killing bandits and Orlesians was one thing, but a Lord in Hightown? Someone people might actually miss? The tingle she felt on her scalp when something was categorically a Bad Idea was doing its tingle thing. She knew without a doubt this was all going to go terribly wrong, or that something was going to blow up in her face like that time Bethany used magic to bake a cake and it exploded everywhere when they cut it. Smart thing was to walk out and never see this Sebastian Vael brother prince, or whatever he considered himself, ever again.

The smart thing didn’t pay very well.

She snatched her prize from him.

“I’d welcome your benediction,” she said. If Sasha didn’t know any better, she’d swear he smirked at that. Of course he didn’t really because Chantry folk like sisters and brothers don’t smirk. They also didn’t arrange hits.

His eyes locked on hers.

“May Andraste guide your path.”

“Indeed.”


	2. Chapter 2

In truth Sebastian had always doubted his place among the Chantry, even after he took his vows. Grand Cleric Elthina was like a mother to him and he loved her with all of his heart, but how could she expect him to abandon his people. Sure, a life of contemplation may have suited him before, but without its rightful heir, Starkhaven would descend into chaos and become no better than…Kirkwall. He winced even as he thought it. He was the last of his line and it was his duty to reclaim his lands. Of course Elthina never failed to remind him daily that his worldly ambition and lust for power was really driving him.

She was wrong.

Elthina, Maker bless her, would never — could never understand the burden he carried.

_Liar, you lust for that throne, you always have._

Sebastian shoved that dark thought aside. It’s not true, and can’t be true.

The Maker himself was the architect of Sebastian’s path, and if the Maker was guiding him to reclaim Starkhaven, then it was the very definition of right and just. Holy, even. What kind of child of the Maker ignored His calling? And Sebastian Vael, above all else, was a devout child of the Maker and His Divine Bride. The more Sebastian turned it over in his mind, the more he realised the problem lay with Elthina, and not within himself. As his thoughts began to galvanize, Sebastian felt stronger and more confident in his decision to leave the Chantry, because surely there was no higher calling, no greater devotion to the Maker and His Bride, than ensuring Starkhaven was ruled according to His will, and only Sebastian would do that with the love and dedication required. Anyone else sitting on Starkhaven’s throne would be more concerned with pleasure and debauchery, than serving the Maker.

He went over several ways to break the news to Elthina. If only there were a way to make Elthina understand that his decision was based on his devotion to the Maker and not the selfish desire to rule. Sebastian’s thoughts were interrupted by the loud hinges of the Chantry door. He felt mild disgust at the poor soul who was coming here at such a late hour. Probably to confess visiting the brothel on their way home to their family, as was all too common an occurrence. A wave of revulsion washed over him and Sebastian told himself there’d be no such places in Starkhaven upon his return. He turned around and prepared to be Brother Sebastian.

His body immediately betrayed him at the sight of her walking slowly towards him, clad in tight black leather pants. Small and delicate feet in fitted ankle boots sauntered towards him with all the confidence of a cat walking a narrow fence. She pushed back the hood of her tattered cloak, releasing platinum hair that tumbled around her narrow shoulders. Big brown eyes regarded him coolly beneath long, thick lashes. He allowed his eyes to linger on her pouty lips, and stamped back the twinge of guilt. If the Maker was instructing him to reclaim his birthright, then the Maker had sent Hawke, and if he had sent Hawke, then surely Sebastian wasn’t wrong for enjoying her.

Hawke reached into her dingy pack and fished out a ring and tossed it to him. “Lord Harimann’s signet.”

Sebastian held it up and studied its sapphire in the soft glow of the candlelight. Although it was empty, the middle of the Chantry was the last place he wanted to have this conversation. “Do you have something you wish to confess?”

“I...okay,” she said slowly.

He gestured to a deep alcove. It had two chairs and a thin white gauze curtain that could be pulled. Sebastian threw himself into one and tugged the gauze around them for privacy.

“Do people really tell you all the bad shit they do?” she asked.

Sebastian coughed. “Of course, the purpose is so that the Maker will —”

“Whatever." She glanced around the confined space. “You can’t tell anyone what I say here. That’s how it works, right?”

“It does.”

She made sure he was still bound by an oath of secrecy. Sebastian’s estimation of her rose considerably.

“In that case…” Hawke leaned in and snatched the signet ring back. “I killed Lord Harimann,” she said, tucking the ring away in her pack. “And I expect this royal payment you offered.”

“A prince,” He began. “Must have access to princely coffers, which I do not at the moment.”

Hawke tilted her head. “A prince trying to reclaim his lands must have many enemies.”

“Many of whom are still nameless, and I…” He spread his hands indicating the Chantry. “Lack the opportunity to find them.”

“I see.” Hawke grinned. “So I had it right. This Harimann was in your way.” She leaned back and crossed her legs. “What you need is someone who’s desperate for gold and lacks scruples. A royal assassin, if you will.”

Sebastian was about to argue, then decided against it because her assessment wasn’t really wrong, and the Maker had led him this far. “The Prince of Starkhaven is in your debt,” he said meaningfully.

She smiled tightly. “You presume too much. I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Pardon?”

“I want a sealed promissory note, bearing your signature, the Vael coat of arms, along with your royal monogram and closed nice and pretty like with your royal seal. It will be on the freshest fucking Chantry parchment in this place, and I want it by tomorrow afternoon.” She stood. “Once I have this delivered to my hands, I’ll deliver your enemies into yours.”

Sebastian bolted to his feet. “Oh is that all?” He scoffed. “You can’t seriously believe I’m going to give you such a document.”

“Do you want your throne or not, Your Highness?”

“Royal Highness,” he corrected.

“Listen, Your Royalness,” she mocked, placing her fingertips on his forearm. “I’m not unreasonable. It can be on the shitty Chantry parchment if that’s all you’ve got.”

Sebastian sneered down at her. “How dare you.”

“Tomorrow after noon then, Your Royal Highness.”

She pulled the curtain back and gave him — and even he had to admit it was very good, even if in jest — a long sweeping curtsy.

He winked. "Good girl."

For a moment, Hawke seemed taken aback. She blushed. "I — thank you." She tugged up her cloak's hood and practically ran out of the Chantry.

_Interesting._

After Hawke had gone, Sebastian went to the lectern and opened the cupboard where the Chant of Light was kept when not in use, along with several sheets of parchment and took one for himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Sasha stared at the royal seal of Prince Sebastian Vael. The bastard had actually done it. She needed to open it of course because it could be completely blank, and she wouldn’t put it past him honestly. The Chantry did things to you and none of them were good. She rubbed her thumb over his crest, was it fish or dragons in a circle? Anyway, there was a chalice in the middle of the dragon-fish things and it was all very high born looking and red.

On the outside of the parchment was her name: Sasha Hawke

He had beautiful penmanship, very elegant and thin. She sniffed it.

“You like him,” Bethany said, peering over her shoulder.

“Oh please. And stop giggling. You sound like a loon.” She stuffed it into her pack. 

“You’re not gonna open it?”

“I need to see Varric.”

“Don’t you want to know what it says?”

Sasha plucked her cloak from its hook on the door. “I have more important things to do.”

Bethany rolled her eyes.

“When she gets up, tell mother I went shopping or whatever,” Sasha said, slamming the door behind her.

Sasha crossed the filthy streets of Lowtown, passing several prostitutes and a little boy begging for coins so he could feed his sick ma and baby brother. She breezed past him. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about starving children, it was that he was full of shit. A general rule for children in this dump was that they were all working for one gang or another and never actually went hungry. She thought back to her first year in this fucked up city and how feeling sorry for every kid she saw cost Bethany her bracelet, which had been a gift from their father. While Sasha was compassionately handing the little leech five silvers, his little shit partner was slipping the jewelry from her Bethany’s wrist.

As she passed a fruit stand, she considered getting an apple that still had a good half, and there were some berries that looked alright. Sasha flipped the merchant a silver and scooped up some blueberries and dug in. As she chewed, she had to admit it wasn’t all bad here. Lowtown had its good points, like for example, no one from Hightown ever came here, and if they did, they kept their heads down because no one who would come to Lowtown would actually want to be here unless it was for business that involved money or women, or murder.

Sasha slung open the door to the Hanged Man, where whisky waited with her name on it.

Varric had been giving Sasha the side eye since she arrived. She could tell that with every moment that passed, her dwarven friend was getting more irritated by the minute to be out of the loop.

“What’s going on, Hawke? You get this quiet, I get worried for the safety of the furniture.”

“I’ve never been that bad.”

“A contact saw you going into the Chantry twice this week and one of them was while it was still daylight.” He chuckled.

“I just love the Maker and all that praying.”

Varric smirked. “All right, keep your secrets. But I have ways of finding things out, Hawke. Even if I don't want to, information always ends up in my lap.”

“What’s important…” She leaned over and grabbed Varric’s hand and said in a dulcet tone, “Is that the Maker is with us.”

“Do you need my help with whatever you’ve gotten yourself into?” he asked, thumping his glass on the table to signal for more booze.

“Probably, but no thanks.”

She reached into her pack and felt Sebastian’s note snug inside and traced the royal seal with her fingers.

Varric lifted his glass to take a swig and stopped halfway. “If you get into trouble with the Carta…”

Sasha smiled at her friend. “I know, and thanks.”

“Sure thing, Hawke. Another round?”

“Not today, I have too much to do,” she said, standing and taking a long stretch and a yawn. “Oh, before I forget, ever heard of Pelman Gwen?”

Sasha could almost see the cogs of Varric’s brain turning. He took a drink and swirled its contents inside the glass. “Pelman’s from Starkhaven, but he and his wife come visit her family in the winter — her name I forgot, but Pelman owes money to Madam Lusine.”

“And he still lives? My, it seems Lusine is developing a soft heart.”

“Oh, Hardly. He always pays when he blows back into Kirkwall. Has to, or he can’t do business there.”

“Thanks.” She tossed two silvers on the table.

As she was walking away, Varric called out, “Any particular reason you need to know about him?”

She pushed the tavern door open and called back over her shoulder, “Man hunting.”

Out in the fresh stench of rotting fish and sweltering heat, Hawke longed for the smell of stale piss and the coolness of the Tavern.

She started the walk back home to Uncle Gamlen’s and hoped Bethany had gone to Hightown with their mother. They couldn’t afford anything there, which they loved to rub in Sasha’s face because of course it was her fault. Her mother made sure that Sasha understood that everything bad that happened to them wouldn’t be happening at all if she had done this, that, or the other instead of the thing she actually did.

Back at Gamlen’s she was grateful no one was home. Even the dog was gone. He’d never admit it, but Sasha knew Gamlen liked taking the pup down to the docks with him.

Inside her room, she pulled Sebastian’s letter from her pack and placed it sealed side up on the desk. She unsheathed her knife and used the tip to gently pry the wax from the parchment. Truth be told, she hated doing it because the seal was so beautiful. Now to find out if that prince was as good as his word.

She slowly unfolded it. His elegant hand was evident as she read, and she was enjoying a hand that was slow and methodical. She chewed her bottom lip, her eyes flew down the page looking for...found it.

 _That son of a bitch_.


	4. Chapter 4

Sasha slung open the Chantry door and didn’t even bother waiting for her eyes to adjust. She spotted Sebastian talking with some old bat. She marched right up to the snake and gripped his bicep, spinning him to face her.

“I need to make another confession, brother,” she spat, working hard to keep her voice a whisper.

“Of course,” he soothed, drawing her aside. “If you’ll just wait one minute while — ”

“In one minute you’ll be dead and I'll be confessing to…” She pointed to a sister dusting a statue. “That sister for your murder.”

Oh what control he must have to rein in his anger, but not for long. Sasha saw the gathering storm in his blue eyes and she was positively thrilled that this asshole was about to lose it.

She twisted a fist full of Chantry robe. “You’re going to talk to me now, or I swear, the enemy of my enemy will be my friend.”

Sebastian locked eyes with her. He grabbed her wrist. “With me.”

Instead of the confessional alcove, he pulled her into a anteroom that smelled like parchment and dust. He closed the door.

Sasha smacked him in the face with the letter. “Explain this.”

“It’s pitch dark in here.”

“Right,” she said, removing the parchment. “Doesn’t matter. It’s your letter, so you know how you tried to cheat me.”

She heard him fumbling around in something she assumed was a cabinet, then a few seconds later, they were enveloped in a soft orange glow.

He tilted the candle to let some of the wax drip onto a rickety table and stuck it inside the wax.

“Right.” She slammed the paper right back in his face. “Well?”

He snatched it out of her hand. “Show me where?”

“There. Third line up from the bottom. Why is Bethany getting anything at all?”

“I assumed she’d be helping you. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“You assumed wrong. Don’t even write her name. I don’t even want to see that stupid loop of that Y.”

Sebastian’s face went from anger to something Sasha could only call understanding. “You’re jealous.”

“It’s not jealousy. She won’t be doing any of the work.”

That bastard’s face broke into a slow smile and Sasha wanted to vomit.

“Look,” she said, using her fingers to emphasize each point. “Number one, I do everything anyway. Number two, she can’t be going around free with me, if you know what I mean. Three, she’s a terrible mage.”

Sebastian appeared amused.

“Interesting,” he said.

“Scratch her name out.”

He spread his arms and looked around, indicating nothing to write with. Snapping a leather pouch on his belt, Sebastian produced a gold knife and deftly cut Bethany’s name out of the promissory note.

Sasha drooled. “Is that gold?”

“What?”

She pointed to the knife. “That.”

He twirled it in his palm as though it were the first time he’d seen it before in his life. “It is.”

She yanked it out of his hand. “Consider this compensation.”

Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And now I’m going home. Good bye.”

She flung open the door. She came back.

“Do you have a holder for this knife?”

He wordlessly gave it to her.

“Now. Goodbye.”

“Mmhm.”

“I wasn’t, nor am I jealous. Goodbye.”

“Okay.”

Sasha’s cheeks burned as she fled the Chantry.

Let Bethany get her own damn prince.


	5. Chapter 5

Madam Lusine nodded approvingly at Sasha’s naked body as she circled her, a hand to her chin turning it this way and that, as if she was seriously evaluating anything, which she certainly wasn’t, and Sasha knew it. She wanted Lusine to stop pretending like she might say no and just get on with hiring her.

“I don’t usually care, but why are you here, Hawke?” Lusine asked.

It would’ve been easier for Sasha to just tell Lusine the truth, but Lusine was smart enough to figure out that her target was Pelman Gwen, and would no doubt warn him and demand gold for the telling. Sasha couldn’t risk it, and this way it was anyone’s guess which noble prick was her target. That wouldn’t keep the bitch from trying to find out, but at least it’d be more difficult.

“Oh the usual, I owe the Carta. They’re sticklers for getting paid on time, you know.”

She sauntered over to an ornate cabinet along the wall next to her desk. “I don’t believe you of course, but I’m going to hire you anyway.” She poured herself some wine and raised her glass. “Of course my cut of your earnings will be substantial.”

Sasha opened her mouth to protest, but Lusine put up a hand and said, “We both know you’re full of shit, Hawke, and if you don’t want me digging further, you’ll graciously accept my offer.”

“Why don’t you graciously kiss my ass.”

Lusine giggled. “Tempting. I can afford it.”

“You’re a real bitch, you know that, Lusine? Just a real bitch.”

“Of course I am. How do you think I keep this place running?”

Sasha couldn’t help but admire the woman. This one time some big time carta asshole was trying to muscle in on the Blooming Rose and he ended up stabbed in front of about fifty people and nobody saw a thing. Lusine’s reach was long, and Sasha knew Lusine had some of the city guard on her payroll.

“I’ll accept my meager wages,” Sasha said, pulling on her leather pants. “I’ll be here for only a few weeks anyway. And no city guardsmen.”

Lusine lifted a delicate eyebrow.

“Aveline,” Sasha explained.

“Fair enough, but she comes here some days looking for a man or two who failed to report.”

“And?”

“If you’d like a warning…”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“One of the others might accidentally let it slip that her friend Hawke is working here, and that’d be terrible.”

“How much?”

“Oh, just a little more off the top.”

“Greedy bitch.”

Honestly, try as she might, Sasha couldn’t really be angry at her. In her position, Sasha would’ve milked the situation for all it was worth, too, and Lusine could blackmail her by threatening to contact Aveline herself unless Sasha gave her every gold coin she made, but she didn’t.

Lusine gulped her wine. “Some of the men have tastes that you might find... distasteful, but I trust you won’t run off any of my regulars. Because it would be a shame if I found out that you had.”

“Relax, _Madam_ , I’ll be mostly nice. I’m not going to cut off anyone’s — ”

“I got it, thank you.”

“I’ll come back some time tonight.”

Lusine smiled in the same way that Sasha imagined a snake might. “At six. You’ll be here at six.”

  
  


***

  
  


“You know, Choir Boy, I just can’t figure it out. Hawke comes to the Chantry, then she’s refusing to tell me why.”

Varric wanted to knock the bastard’s head against the wall, but he wouldn’t bring blood into the Chantry. He may not attend, but he was still Andrastian.

Sebastian shrugged and kept lighting candles for the evening sermon.

Varric went on, “Now why would she come here in broad daylight unless it was to visit you? Then I got to thinking about how she took out Flint Company for you, and that maybe a prince might have more work.”

“If she doesn’t want to tell you, then perhaps she has her own reasons and we should respect that,” Sebastian said, lighting the final candle.

 _Insufferable asshole_. “That would suit you fine, wouldn’t it? For me to just walk out of here while you mired my friend in your bullshit.”

“Hawke has her own mind, and is quite capable of handling herself.”

Varric snorted. “Don’t give me your platitudes. Tell me what you’ve got her doing.”

“Whatever choices Hawke has made, are hers to make. I’ve done nothing but extend an offer.”

“She’s my friend. That might not mean shit to you, but unlike you I make it my business to ensure the people I care about are still breathing tomorrow.”

“You’re not entitled to know _my_ business.”

Varric glared. “I’ll find out one way or another, Choir Boy. It’s in your best interest to tell me.”

“Did you come here to threaten me, Varric?” Sebastian smiled softly, but in a way that unnerved Varric and he couldn’t think why.

“Should’ve known reason and empathy wouldn’t move a Chantry robe. Too impressed by the smell of your own shit.”

“I’m sorry you don’t want to respect her choice, but perhaps prayer might give you a fresh perspective.”

“Fuck you.”

“Will you be staying for the sermon?”

It took every ounce of Varric’s willpower to walk away. He had sources, and he planned on putting them to good use.


End file.
